Next, someone produced wooden practice swords and shields. They laid a large cloak on the grass for size, then staked out a rope on the ground for the fighting space in the way of the hólmgang. Several of the men vied against each other. Many wagers were placed, as the fighters parried and feinted, skipping back and forth to avoid the wooden blades, which, even though not sharp, could still bruise.

One of Tannskári’s people, an older man called Hroar, with a broad nose that looked like it had been broken more than once, handed me a water skin. I drank deeply, nodding my thanks.

“You do not bet on your man?” he asked.

Pendrad was sparring with a thickset young man with a fair, red-streaked beard. The two appeared quite evenly matched, but it looked to me that Pendrad was the more experienced fighter. His timing and footwork were better, and his extra height gave him the advantage of a longer reach. Still, I had little to wager, so did not take the risk.

“Maybe later,” I said, feeling Leofstan’s disapproving glare on me.

I ignored him, concentrating on the rest of the bout. As expected, Pendrad was the first to land the requisite three blows, only receiving one painful rap against his wrist for his trouble.

I was surprised when Gwawrddur stood and walked towards the hólmgang square in the centre of the standing stones.

“You are fully recovered?” asked Leofstan.

The Welshman shrugged.

“God alone knows the answer to that,” he said. “But if not, better I should lose when the swords are oak, rather than steel.” He grinned, and I was glad the darkness that had gripped him appeared to have lifted. “But of course,” he held up his hands as if in apology, “I will not lose.”

His confidence buoyed my own. I had never seen Gwawrddur lose a fight.

“I will wager on the Welshman,” I said to Hroar.

Toki stepped over the rope to face Gwawrddur and Hroar chuckled, clearly believing the older Welshman would have no chance against Tannskári’s eldest son.